Sunday, March 22, 2015

I know my sabbatical sermons are over,
but I want to share one more trip story with you. In my down time in London, I went to
Westminster Abbey. As it happened, the
Abbey was celebrating the anniversary of its founding that weekend, and I walked
into a stunning evensong on a Saturday afternoon. Afterward, as the music and incense still
hung in those heavenly vaulted ceilings, I came across something I hadn’t known
was there, among all the monuments to famous men (and a few women). What I found was a lectern, carved from hard
English wood. It was given in memory of
the missionary William Carey, who worked in India in the early 1800s and
translated the Bible into several different languages. What struck me, other than the woodwork, was
the quote from William Carey emblazoned across the front of the lectern: “Attempt great things for God.1

What made me stop short was the
verb. It doesn’t say, “Achieve great
things for God.” It doesn’t set the bar
at success on our terms. It says, “Attempt great things for God.” There’s good theology in that: After all, most outcomes ultimately are not
in our hands; and what we perceive to be the
outcome may be only a momentary glimpse of a very long process.

As we heard in the readings today, God
plays the long game. Millennia ago, as the
Israelites sat in exile, God promised that their story had just begun. The people had failed in keeping the covenant
of Law, the covenant intended to make them a holy presence, a missional light
drawing all the world to Israel’s God.
But even in the darkness of exile, God proclaims, “The days are surely
coming when I will make a new covenant” with my people. “I will put my law within them, and I will
write it on their hearts … and I will remember their sin no more.” (Jeremiah
31:31,33,34) This one wouldn’t be a
covenant of law and obligation. Nor
would it be a covenant of worldly convenience by which we judge whether we’re
getting what we want from our “relationship” with God. Instead, God promises the New Covenant – a
covenant of worldly risk and kingdom reward, the covenant of eternal life.

In eternal life, both risk and reward
are guarantees. The reward is so clear,
we may miss it, like fish who don’t notice the water in which they swim. The reward of the New Covenant, as our
catechism puts it, is Christ’s promise “to bring us into the kingdom of God and
give us life in all its fullness” (BCP 851).
And our guaranteed risk? It is
the deeply risky work of remembering – remembering who we are and whose we
are.

Our part of the New Covenant is what
Jesus commanded in the Last Supper, what we bring to life at this altar every week. It’s the sacrifice of anamnesis. That’s a
ten-dollar Greek word used by theologians as well as physicians, for whom it
has to do with taking a patient’s history.
In a church context, we usually say anamnesis means active remembering, remembering in the sense of bringing a past
reality fully into the present moment – and that’s true. But at Episcopal 101 last week, a faithful
physician pointed out the word’s etymology:
Anamnesis actually means “not amnesia,” “not forgetting.” It’s basically the same as “remembering,” but
with a shade of defiance.

When we remember Jesus – when we remember
his sacrifice for us and our call to follow in his steps – we proclaim defiance
to the forces that would tempt us to the covenant of convenience instead. And in the Greek, we hear Jesus saying it
defiantly, too: “Do this for the
not-forgetting of me.”

He says, “Don’t forget that I want you
to attempt great things for God. Don’t
forget that I want you to be my body in the world, united in the love of
washing each other’s feet. Don’t forget
that I want you to obey my commandments, which can be the opposite of
convenience. Don’t forget that those who
love their life lose it; that whoever serves me must follow me; that where I
am, there will my servant be also.” This
is risky remembering.

But with it comes God’s side of the New
Covenant: the promise that we will
abide, now and always, in eternal
life – not just in the sweet by and by, but each and every day we rise in resurrection.

That’s definitely playing the long
game. But in the Gospel stories, and certainly
for the people there 2,000 years ago, it can seem sometimes like Jesus was
driving toward outcomes in the moment, outcomes on the world’s terms. Just before the Gospel reading we heard today,
we get some of the Bible’s very best drama, seeming to tell the story of Jesus’
rise to power: He raises Lazarus from
the dead. That brings new followers out
of the woodwork, and it makes Jesus a marked man as the religious authorities decide
it’s time to kill him. Meanwhile, more
and more people come out to follow him, and Jesus enters Jerusalem in triumph
on what we call Palm Sunday. As the
Pharisees put it, “Look, the world has gone after him!” (John 12:19). Even the “Greeks” (John 12:20) – the non-Jews
crowding into Jerusalem for the Passover festival – even they want to find out
what this miracle worker and would-be king is about to do. You can almost hear the voices in the
crowd: “Jesus, now’s the time for you to
mobilize us against the Romans! Now’s
the time for you to call down the armies of God against them! Hosanna to our commander in chief!”

And the king’s response? “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth
and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much
fruit. Those who love their life lose
it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal
life. Whoever serves me must follow me,
and wherever I am, there will my servant be also.” (John 12:24) So much for the coup d’état.

The outcome isn’t about Jesus riding the
wave of success. It’s about the Body of
Christ, his followers then and now, being sent to reach “the Greeks,” the people
still on the outside of God’s beloved community. The outcome is about Tim, whom I mentioned a
couple of weeks ago – the young man I met outside a restaurant who loves Jesus
but indicted the churches he knew as being sluggish and self-centered. The outcome in the Gospel story is that Jesus
gives himself away to die – not because he wants to, which he clearly doesn’t. Jesus gives himself away because he’s playing the long game. He knows his death will defeat death – and he knows that’s only the beginning
of the work. He knows it won’t be him,
in historical reality, who will reach billions of people across time and space,
who will “draw all people” to himself (John 12:32). He knows he must be the seed that falls into
the ground to rise as so much more.

And he asks us to follow suit. We who call ourselves Christians must take his
path of dying and rising, giving ourselves up to be made new. We must be about anamnesis, defiantly not
forgetting our part of the New Covenant.
We proclaim it at every baptism, and we’ll do so again in the half-light
of the Easter Vigil: We promise to be
part of a community of blessing. We promise
to resist evil and return to God and each other when we fail. We promise to proclaim Jesus’ good news in
all we say and do. We promise to serve
Jesus in everyone, loving our neighbors as ourselves. We promise to practice peace and justice in
the hardest places, even the intimate spaces of our own lives. And over time, we come to do what Jesus says
is the ultimate holy work (John 6:29), believing in the one whom God has sent
as the source of light and life and love.
Jesus calls us to belong, to become, and to believe – to play the long
game.

That long game is what we’re playing as
a church community, too, with the Gather & Grow initiative. Like Jesus entering Jerusalem in triumph, Gather
& Grow might seem like something driving toward a worldly outcome –
buildings. And given the way churches
sometimes behave, a person like Tim, the church critic, could be forgiven for
coming into the Jewell Room, looking at the architects’ renderings, and
thinking, “That church just wants to build a monument to itself.” Churches do commit that sin sometimes –
pastors, too. We’ve heard this week of
the impossibly named pastor Creflo Dollar with World Changers Church, who’s
apparently changing the world by having his followers buy him a $60 million private
jet.2 That kind of thing
makes people like Tim blow a gasket. Me,
too.

But Gather & Grow is not about
monuments or egos. It’s about a seed
that fell to the earth and died here in 1913, thereby bearing a century of
fruit. Our use of space new, old, or
otherwise – and, by the way, everything
else we do as the Church – must be about three things: loving God, loving neighbor, loving each
other. And through that love, God sends
us out to reach “the Greeks,” the people who aren’t yet part of God’s beloved community. Working toward that mission brings us to a
few Palm Sundays here and there, moments when we might be tempted to look for
worldly triumph. But the truth Jesus
proclaims this morning is this: Mission
takes sacrifice. It means grains of
wheat falling to the earth. It means
Jesus’ followers taking costly steps. In
our very real lives in this very material world, it means keeping the New
Covenant in ways that will stretch us – pledges of our hands and our hearts,
but also pledges of financial commitment.
Gather & Grow is the most significant step in Christ’s mission we’ve
taken since we built this nave in 1952. As
he did then, Jesus is asking us now to play the long game. He’s asking us to choose against a covenant
of law, church “because you have to.” He’s
asking us to choose against a covenant of convenience, church that’s there to
meet my needs. He’s asking us to choose
the New Covenant and write it on our hearts, the covenant of worldly risk and
kingdom reward.

And the outcome? The outcome is literally inscribed on the other side of the lectern I saw in Westminster
Abbey. Like I said, one side reads,
“Attempt great things for God.” And the
other side reads, “Expect great things from God.”

Expect great things from God – not in
terms of worldly success but in terms of our life as the body of Christ,
bringing love to the people God asks us to serve. Expect great things from God – not as a
payoff for good works but as a consequence of “walk[ing] in love as Christ loved
us and gave himself for us” (Ephesians 5:2).
Expect great things from God because God is playing the long game. Expect great things from God not despite the embarrassing fact that the
grain of wheat dies and lies buried in the ground. No. Expect
great things from God because of it. Expect great things from God because we are being
lifted up with Jesus into the magnificence of his abundant life – the
exaltation of servanthood, the glory of sacrifice, the greatness of giving
ourselves away.

I’d like to introduce you to two people
this morning. They’re both composite
characters, but their stories are very real, stories that represent many other people’s
stories.

First, let me introduce Tina. Tina is half of a couple who’ve both grown up
in a church. The two of them recently
moved to Brookside, and they’re looking for a church family. So Tina comes to St. Andrew’s one Sunday
morning on a recon mission. She’s
checking the landscape, seeing what life is like in this place. Tina comes through those red doors; and in
her visit, she finds love – the love of Christ himself. She experiences the mystery of God’s intimately
majestic presence as she worships in this glorious space. The choir’s anthem stirs her heart. Several people talk to her at the Peace and
after the service. And I find that, by
the time I get to talk to her and ask her to stay for lunch at Episcopal 101,
I’m the fifth person so far to extend the invitation. Now, Tina may or may not discern that St.
Andrew’s is the church for them, for any of a hundred reasons. But she leaves that morning seeing the church
as God’s loving family, ready to welcome them in.

So, that’s Tina. Now let me introduce you to Tim. I met Tim outside a restaurant earlier this
week, actually. I had on my clerical collar,
so he took the opportunity to share his perspective on churches. He started out this way: “You know,” he said, “I love Jesus – he’s great. But
I don’t have much use for churches.”

And why might that be? Well, let me fill in some blanks in Tim’s
attitudinal profile with the help of this book.
It’s called Churchless. It’s from the Barna Group, an organization
that studies people’s perceptions of faith and religion. This book is all about people whose
perceptions have led them to be “churchless.”
What’s that? A churchless person
falls into one of two subgoups: people
who’ve once been part of a church community but are no longer, and people who’ve
never been part of a church. Nationally,
43 percent of the population falls into one of these categories.1 Forty-three percent. Now, lest you think that’s all about blue
states, those crazy people on the coasts who stay away from church in droves – well,
it’s a reality for us, too. The Kansas
City area does have a higher percentage of people in church than, say, Portland
or Seattle. But still: 34 percent of Kansas City–area households are
churchless. That’s about 320,000
households right here.2 That’s
a lot of people staying away from church here in the religious heartland.

So what might be under that statement
Tim made about loving Jesus but rejecting the church? Here’s the really interesting thing: Many churchless people are actually seeking
God. In the Barna study, two-thirds of
churchless people report having done something to expand and deepen their faith
in the past month.3 Nearly 60
percent say they pray to God regularly.4 Fifty-one percent say they’re seeking
something better spiritually than what they’ve known before.5 These are not people who’ve checked out of a
spiritual journey. They’ve just decided that
churches, as they know them, aren’t helpful as they make their way. Why?
Because their experience of churches, personally or from the media,
tells them churches are mostly all about themselves and judgmental, to
boot. Many of the people staying home on
a Sunday morning see church as relationally shallow, morally restrictive,
opposed to science, intolerant of other faiths, judgmental of LGBT people, and
promoting a political agenda.6

So, just as an exercise in exploring
different perspectives, I wonder how Tina and Tim might hear today’s
readings. The first one, from Exodus, is
a classic – the 10 Commandments. God
descends from the mountain and declares these laws to the Israelites, the
thunder and lightning and smoke and trumpets scaring the living daylights out
of them. This is serious business; as
the Law is later fleshed out, breaking most of these commands is a capital crime. But paradoxically, these commands are also
signs of love, the “boundaries [that] enclose a pleasant land” in relationship
with God (Psalms 16:6), the limits a parent sets to protect her children. Of course, how you hear these laws depends on
where you’re coming from. For Tina, they
might indeed mark those pleasant boundaries of our relationship with God who
loves us each as children. But for Tim,
maybe they’re just the first in a long list of rules the church expects him to
follow. For Tim, the church is all about rules – and from the very
start, apparently.

Then we have the reading from First
Corinthians, which is all about mystery.
When the world seeks something to believe in, Paul says, it looks for
signs of power. It looks for logic and
evidence, an iron-clad case. It’s the
Stephen Hawking approach to God, from The
Theory of Everything: Prove that God’s
necessary, and then maybe I’ll believe.
For those who follow Jesus, the mystery is that believing actually isn’t
about that kind of proof. Instead, as
we’ll see in Holy Week especially, it’s all about the cross. It’s about giving ourselves in love just as
Jesus gave himself in love, paradoxically defeating the powers of evil and
death by choosing the path of apparent weakness and foolishness, saving us by intentionally
not saving himself. For Tina, a person who’s inhabited this
mystery for years, it’s her story – so deeply true you can only begin to plumb
its depths in any given moment. But for Tim,
hearing this reading out of context, I wonder whether it makes much sense at
all – or does it just leave Tim shaking his head? Instead of feeling loved into everlasting
life, does he just see himself as one of the “Greeks” in the reading, someone
who doesn’t have the insider knowledge you need about God for all this to make any
sense?

Then there’s the Gospel reading. Now, this one I imagine might resonate with
Tim a little more directly. In fact,
this might be the Gospel story of choice for churchless people – Jesus saying
to the religious authorities, “What the heck do you think you’re doing? You have lost your way. You’ve made religious life all about what
ultimately doesn’t matter – exchanging money (at a profit) and selling
sacrificial animals, all so you can bind people to following rules.” As Jesus reminds religious people elsewhere, what
the Lord fundamentally requires is not about religious rituals, not about a sacrificial
system that orchestrates acts of worship.
It’s about the sacrifice of our hearts, doing justice and loving kindness
and walking humbly with our God (Micah 6:8).
So Tina might be a little uneasy with this Gospel reading that shines a
stark light on bankrupt religious practice and makes us squirm. But Tim loves this reading, because it calls
the church to repent.

Not everybody “out there” is Tim. Like many of us in this room today, there are
lots and lots of Tinas, people who love the church despite its failings, people
who are looking for the kind of loving embrace we see and know at St. Andrew’s. But we also can’t ignore Tim. As I said, here in the Kansas City area, 34
percent of our local population is Tim.
So we ignore them at the church’s peril.

But that’s actually not the real the reason we can’t ignore Tim. The real reason is that Tim wants and needs deeper
connection with God, and humans do best on that journey when we take it with a
group of fellow travelers. Sure, we each
need some solitary time in our pilgrimage; but, to paraphrase Dean Wormer in the
movie Animal House: Lost, alone, and wandering is no way to spend
your life, son. The reason the church
should care about Tim is because Jesus wants to welcome him home. Jesus wants him to find a place where he can
live out the truth that we know deep
in our bones, that you just can’t follow God so well by yourself.

Our Gather & Grow initiative is all
about equipping us to welcome people home – both those who write off the church
as irrelevant and those who love the church, warts and all. Gather & Grow is about orienting our
hearts, and our ministries, and our buildings to reach Tim as well as
Tina. It’s about opening multiple doors
into the story of God and the life of this congregation. It’s about parenting classes and the Friday noon Eucharist. It’s about an incubator for social
entrepreneurs and feeding hungry
people downtown. It’s about finding
Jesus in a discussion of politics over a beer at the Well and finding Jesus in the bread and wine at this altar. It’s about welcoming groups and families for
parties and meetings and about
welcoming Sunday-morning guests on into an angel’s embrace.

This is why Gather & Grow is the
most significant thing we’ve tried to do here in the last 50 years, why we’re frankly
taking such a courageous step to begin our second century. St. Andrew’s is a house of prayer for all –
for Tina and for Tim. We may have more experience embracing Tina,
but we can’t leave Tim out on his own – especially when he’s actually looking for God. Because St. Andrew’s is not the church as Tim
imagines it – narrow, small-minded, political, and intolerant. That’s not us. We are God’s mustard tree, with roots deep
enough to support branches that welcome all sorts and conditions of birds to nest
here. We are God’s house of prayer for
all. We’ve just got to open door after
door after door to show Tim that God’s actually standing behind each one of
them, arms wide open, welcoming him home.

1.
Barna, George, and David
Kinnaman. Churchless: Understanding Today’s Unchurched and How to Connect with
Them. Tyndale, 2014.

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

My church, St. Andrew’s Episcopal in Kansas City, is in
the midst of Gather & Grow, a campaign to build ministry with people in our
community and steward our facilities (particularly our aging youth center and
tired lower levels of the church). We’ve heard God
knocking on our doors, asking us both to tend what’s behind them and to open those
doors wider to the people around us.

If we needed evidence for that call to mission, we can
find it in a recent book from church researchers the Barna Group. In Churchless,1
George Barna and David Kinnaman document the fascinating spiritual state of a
nation many consider Christian. In a
nutshell: 43 percent of the U.S.
population is not part of a church community.
Thirty-three percent were once part of a church but have now chosen not
to be, and 10 percent have never been (1).
In the Kansas City area – here in the heart of the Midwest, a bulwark of
traditional values – the percentage is smaller.
Still, a remarkable 34 percent of the Kansas City area, about 320,000
households, is “churchless.”2

But even more remarkable is the rest of the story: For many people in this group, God’s not the
problem; the church is. In fact, the
Barna study reveals that clear majorities of the churchless are actually
seeking God, just not with a group of other people on a Sunday morning. Consider these findings:

Two-thirds of the churchless say they’ve tried
something to expand their faith understanding and maturity in the past month (61).

62% consider themselves to be Christian (41).

58% pray to God in a typical week (59).

52% desire a closer relationship with God (123).

51% are actively seeking something better
spiritually than what they’ve known (41).

26% go so far as to characterize their spiritual
seeking as a quest for spiritual truth (41).

As my business-oriented friends would say, this seems to
be an “opportunity-rich environment” for churches … if it weren’t for the fact
that they’re churches. The Barna study
confirms what we’ve heard before: that spiritual pilgrims, especially young
adults, tend to see churches as restrictive and intolerant, relationally
shallow, antagonistic to science, judgmental about sexuality, judgmental toward
people of other faiths, and unfriendly toward people’s honest doubts (97-102).

I know I’m biased, but I don’t think those
generalizations describe most congregations of the Episcopal Church, and I’m
certain they don’t describe St. Andrew’s.
In a nutshell, this is why we’re undertaking Gather & Grow, our
campaign to build ministry with people around us: Because we know we have something to offer
spiritual pilgrims.

At St. Andrew’s, we’re seeking to reach people with
multiple entry points as well as Sunday morning. According to Churchless, the sorts of things most likely to connect with the
needs and desires of spiritual pilgrims are ministries to serve the poor and
alleviate poverty, to support and mentor young adults trying to figure out how
to raise kids, to help parents instill character and values in their kids, and
to provide safe places to explore real questions about how faith intersects
with the rest of life and the world around us. There’s our opportunity-rich environment – an
opportunity to love people and meet real needs.

But we also have to remember each person in the Barna
study is, first and foremost, a person, not a data point or a potential
member. So it might be helpful to think
about real people’s questions and the answers we might provide. Recently, a couple of real, live human beings
raised a wonderful series of questions with me – questions that people of faith
need to be able to answer with compassion and clarity.

Just this week, I met a man named Tim outside a restaurant. He saw me wearing a clerical collar, which
can be a wonderful invitation to conversation.
Tim led with this comment: “You
know, actually I love Jesus – he’s great – but I don’t have much use for
churches.” What follows is not a transcript
of our conversation but questions both from Tim and from other spiritual
pilgrims. I’ve also taken a shot at some
answers.

“The
people of the church and the clergy don’t care about me or what I want.” I’m sorry that’s been your experience.
It’s a sadly ironic truth that churches sometimes lose their focus on the
people about whom Jesus was so concerned – those on the outside of religious
boundaries. Churches sometimes do get caught up in their
own institutional lives, and points of view like yours remind us
where the institution needs to focus – on those who aren’tmembers, as well as those who
are. In most churches (not all, but most),
you’d definitely find that people care about you.

“All that
churches want is my money and one more body to sit and listen to their dogma.”
Again, if you’ve gotten this message from churches you’ve attended, I’m
sorry. It’s another example of putting the institution ahead of the
people it’s there to serve. We strive to remember and embody some
core principles to guide us away from that mistake. First, the
church fundamentally is not an institution; it’s the gathering of the
people God has brought there to be God’s living presence in that place (“the
body of Christ”). Second, we’re called to gratitude, first and foremost,
for the blessings God has given us; so the church strives (imperfectly) to be
thankful for the gifts of all the members of that body. When someone
makes the commitment to be part of the church family, we do ask for a pledge of
time, talent, and treasure as a mark of one’s gratitude for God’s gifts;
but the amount and nature of that pledge is strictly between you and God.
Third, many (perhaps most) Episcopalians would feel much the same way about
dogma as you do. We teach the historic claims that Christians have been
making for nearly 2,000 years about the nature of God and Jesus’ role in God’s
work of restoring all people to the wholeness God desires for them. But
we have no litmus test for being welcomed into our community. On any
given Sunday, you’d find people questioninganyof the claims our worship
makes. It’s great fodder for conversation and growth in our understanding
of God – and ourselves.

“Church
people are a bunch of hypocrites, and I don’t want to be like that.” Neither
do I. But we’re all hypocrites, in the sense that the lives we live don’t
quite match the principles and truths we’d claim. The healing God desires
for us has much to do with bringing our lives into alignment with the
principles toward which we strive: love God, love neighbor, love one
another. We’re all works in progress in making that a reality.

“If a
church really knew me, they wouldn’t want me.” I’ll bet the vast majority of people in any church
feel the same way. We are our own worst critics, and we know our failings
better than any other person. But Christians would say God knows us
even better than that, placing a higher priority on our inherent beauty
and goodness, which reflects God’s own beauty and goodness. Where
there are shortcomings and failures, God forgives and helps us move past them.
The journey of developing a relationship with God is about healing our
shortcomings and living as God’s creations constantly made new.

“Church
people have a holier-than-thou attitude; they’re pretentious.”
Yes, some are. Cultivating the humility and servanthood that Jesus
modeled is one of the most fundamental, and challenging, of God’s calls to us.

“I don’t
believe their Bible, doctrine, and requirements. Church people believe a
lot of stuff that never happened.” In the Episcopal
tradition especially, we have a long history of holy disagreement. We see
the Bible as living and active, in the sense that not only does it guide how we
strive to live and love, but human interpretation of it is always a work
in progress. Very, very few Episcopalians would claim that the Bible, as
a document, is inerrently factual. For us, there is a difference
between truth and fact. Is it a fact that God created the universe
in six 24-hour Earth days? Most of us would say probably not. Does
the creation story in Genesis speak deep truth about God’s extraordinary power,
God’s desire for relationship, and the inherent goodness of creation?
Absolutely.

“Church
people reject the teachings of science and believe in things that are just
plain not true.” Again, for the vast majority of Episcopalians, there is no
inherent disconnection between science and faith. We do accept the
teachings of science, and we share its investigational ethos. We see
God revealed in the astonishing diversity and beauty of creation; and we
wonder and wrestle when the natural world and human acts call religious
claims into question. That wrestling, that conversation, expands our
understanding of God rather than shutting the door to science.

“Churches
are too political.” Yes, many are. At St. Andrew’s, we don’t
tell people how to vote or what political party is closer to “God’s side.”
We do believe our faith shapes our responses to policy issues. Every
time someone is baptized, we remind ourselves that we’re committed to loving
our neighbors as ourselves and to striving for justice, peace, and respect
for every human being. But we’re also humble enough to know that no
person, no party, and no news channel has the right answer to every
question. Again, we find God’s purposes and preferences emerging through
dialogue and conversation.

“Churches
lack the courage to speak on important issues.”
Yes, that, too, is sometimes true. For Episcopalians, it’s the
shadow side of the last response. Because we recognize that God doesn’t
have a political party and that every voice around the table can offer insight
into God’s purposes, we sometimes err on the side of being too quiet when
taking a stand might alienate some of the people whose voices we want to keep
hearing. It’s part of the ongoing self-examination, and repentance, to
which Jesus calls the church.

1. Barna, George, and David
Kinnaman. Churchless: Understanding Today’s Unchurched and How to Connect with Them. Tyndale, 2014.

2. Barna Group.
Kansas City KS-MO City Report
2015, With Comparative Data From the Midwest Region. Available for purchase from Barna. 2014-2015.